


not of his concern

by Iletyouseeme



Series: Breaking bread, and breaking beds. [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Exploration Of A Queer Character, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17278661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iletyouseeme/pseuds/Iletyouseeme
Summary: S2E04; Tommy never went to the Eden Club with Arthur and the lads. Didn't mean he never went to London though.





	not of his concern

“Well, Finn.” Tommy said, feeling resigned.

The boy looked up. He’d been silent, bored from the day. The lack of girls, of laughing.

“We'll finish our drinks and head off home."

"Is it dangerous right now, Tom?" Finn had understood his brothers to be bad men, but ultimately to be _good_ bad men.

"Not for us," said Tom.

"What about John and Arthur?”

"Don't you worry about those two," he said. "You can bet their having the time of their lives in London, with all those women and all that music. Might even send you a postcard, if you're lucky." 

"Do you reckon I could go with them, Tom. Next time, maybe?"

"Maybe in a few years -"

"But, Tom -"

"Now, now. Your place is here, you understand? Poll would have me if you got hurt. And besides, you've got more between your ears than John and Arthur put together. No good if one of the Italians see to blow a bullet through your skull."

“Well it’s not just the Italians though, is it Tom?” Finn said. “It’s the Jews as well.”

Alfie Solomons came to mind. 

“Solomons thinks he has the lid on things, Finn. He doesn’t. His boys are being robbed blind; the Italians have been spotted around Camden - it’s all about to blow up in his face.”

”Why don’t we side with the Italians, then?”

This had been John’s argument. ”Sabini is like a mad dog, and not to be trusted. Solomons is easier to control.”

This had all been true up until the moment that Tom had met Solomons. He recalled the man’s arms. There was the scar that bisected Solomon’s brow which made him look eternally pleased with himself.

Tom’s gut clenched.

”But if he ain’t got control, Tom - what’ll happen to John and Arthur?”

”Nothing they’re not prepared for,” said Tom.

"Poll says they do a lot for you, Tom. Says you should treat them better.”

"Last time I checked, me and the boys all had a third each. They do what they do because they fucking love it, Finn.”

Finn knew this to be true, but everyone within one hundred miles of Small Heath knew Tommy Shelby owned Birmingham, and his brothers for that matter.

It made him sad sometimes. Tommy had always been the only Shelby who had any clue what the fuck was going on. Nowadays, he resembled a ghost. Little sleep and even less food made Tom appear manic behind the eyes and thin in his own face.

All of his energy and resources were going towards London. There was no John to amuse them. No Aunt Poll. She’d gone to visit Ada, leaving Tom with Esme and Lizzie. They’d spent the day addressing paperwork that had been neglected in his office.

It was much later when Tom found the very first telegram Solomons had sent. The memories came flooding back. Now it was tucked away, in the lining of his coat, just over his chest.

_Let us break bread together._

Tommy looked at his younger brother. He wondered whether Finn had figured it out. That Tom’s gait was weak. That his lip was cut and his neck was bruised. There were also the marks on his back and on the inside of his thighs. Dark spots on his hips that resembled the urgent press of fingers.

More than one offer had taken place that day. The cabinet at the back of the room had survived the deal or death. Yet it had not survived what followed after.

Alfie’s had never stopped talking, even when his mouth had been at Tom’s neck. His cane was also entirely for show, which was a revelation that Tom had found highly amusing.

Tommy had gone to Camden Town to fuck over Alfie Solomons the way he’d fucked over Billy Kimber, with little regard for anything but his own gain, and with the pistol he’d been given from his time digging through the mud twenty feet below.

As far as he was aware, the past was the past. That night with Alfie Solomons was one that would soon fade from memory. Pleasant but incidentally meaningless. Business with the Jews would presume, and the future would unfold. All would be forgotten.

Or so Tom thought.


End file.
